Arya – The Indian Babe Part 2

Time lost its meaning, as did the activities and routines that filled Arya’s days. The days that followed that night lingered on for what felt like months. Her only solace was returning to her bed after the drudgeries of the day to day.
This is where it had happened. All it took was a certain stillness, the privacy of her blanket concealing her bare skin, the closing of her eyes, and he returned to her. A warmth draped over her skin, a heavy force suppressed her breath, and a dominant pressure exerted on her pelvis. All she could do was pretend. Her hands became him. She caressed her breasts, squeezing them and pushing them together as he had. She rubbed her ripe, tender inner thighs, swelling her desire as he had. She reached down, her fingers assuming his long shape, and filled herself. Her inadequacy was apparent. She could not match his heat, his extent, and his vigor.
Yet, this was all she had of him that remained, so she relished the imitation and fantasy. She replayed the culmination, the interplay of him and her. First, a slow shallow stroke: her back arched. Then, a few deep, lingering strokes: her toes curled. Finally, rapid, powerful pounding: her jaw locked open and she choked for air. She arrived at bliss and calm. Now she could sleep.
But when morning came she grasped for the space aside her. The vast entirety of the bed was cold and untouched. The fantasies were not enough. She needed only him. No one and nothing else would do. But, the weight of her guilt conscience immobilized her. The her teetering away from one swift indulgence.
Torturous occasions arose when she met him again, but not under the pretenses she yearned for. No, these encounters were accident, under the company of his other lover, and they always proceeded in a painful, polite detachment. When either entered the room the other’s eyes would periodically glance, watching in an estrangement from the present, reminiscing the past. Long minutes would pass until they were, but a few feet apart- still this separation far more than either one preferred.
The eventual dance of introductions would bring them face to face, close enough to exchange all senses, but their taste. Their eyes met in that crowded public, but together traveled elsewhere in confidential bliss. That gaze always lasted longer than it should, but then the greetings that followed rung empty, short and mundane. Still, they both preferred these teasing encounters and tame gestures to the looming good-byes. There was never any certainty when they would meet again.
Weeks went by and life continued as such, each day fraying her patience and resolve until some imminent and spontaneous rapture would free her. This culmination came on an ordinary day from ordinary seeds of intent. She sought to clean the accumulation of screenshots and blurry selfies on her phone. She flicked and tapped at her screen with cold, merciless precision- she needed just a glance to consider whether it was memorable or meaningless.
However, one picture brought her to a stand still. It was her, but with a look of confidence and poise she hadn’t seen in so long. Smoldering, sensuous eyes looked back at her. The lips were full and pursed. Not simply happy or sad, but something more powerful- unafraid. Her breasts were uncovered and flared out. Her free hand made no attempt to cover them. But, the most provocative and exhilarating part of the picture was what covered her. She remembered how it felt. The liquid splattering against her face. Warmer than her skin and thin enough to flow and drip on her chest. By the time she took this picture, it had cooled and coalesced into white, shimmering streaks unintentionally, yet artfully adorning her face and body.
She looked into her eyes again. There was no shame. How could she when she had incited something so uncontrollable and powerful in him? Something so powerful that the image of her, like this must have been etched with permanence somewhere in his memory. She needed only to remind him.
Without hesitation, her fingers danced on the glass. She sent the picture. She accompanied it with three words: I need you.
That fall had been particularly cold, and her long, tan trench coat did its best to keep her warm up to her knees. From there, the sheer stockings did little against the gusts of air. It was inappropriate for the season, but appropriate for the occasion. It no longer mattered because she was here.
In one sweeping movement, the doorman lowered his head, signaled her to come in, and opened the oversized doors. It certainly was a beautiful hotel, reminiscent of those you see in older movies, each decorative element embedded with an additional ornate embellishment. But, then she remembered why she came. She took a moment to glance at the number in the text message.
1137.
“1137 … 1137,” she repeated under her breath.
Then, she picked her head up and walked straight to the elevator, her eyes never straying from her goal. The elevator dinged and opened its doors. She pressed the button marked 11 and moved without effort. The world seemed to be pushing her forward with a purposeful inertia until she stopped. The numbers 1137, etched on a gold plate on the door, were before her.
When the door opened, they were before one another. Krish was dressed dashingly in a crisp, fitted white shirt and dark blue trousers. But her appearance, although mostly shrouded in the mystique of her trench coat, was immaculate. The majority of her hair was beautifully, styled up in a high pony tail, but two steaks of her jet black hair bordered each half of her face like a framed masterpiece. The beauty of her face was left mostly untouched except for the coloring of a jet black mascara and eyeliner that accentuated her lovely, dark brown eyes and vibrant, and a red lip stick that elicited his hunger for her luscious, full lips. Above her lips, on the right was a her only point of asymmetry, a beauty mark. But, this too adorned her face with a purpose. The designer of her composition was an artist- he made no mistakes.
She stepped forward and their bodies lined up against one another in sort of symmetry. Her legs nestled in the space between his, her body encapsulated by his broad stature, and their bodies only separated by the thickness of fabric. His one arm wrapped around her waist as the other pressed the door shut behind her. Synchronized with the door’s movement, their bodies fell back against it. Now it was her legs splaying out and wrapping around his body. She lay against door, weightless and suspended. The pressure of his pelvis pinned her hips in place. She felt no tether to the earth. The only thing holding her in place was him.
His head was nestled in her neck. First the warmth of his breath, then the wet touch of his tongue, and at last the pressure of his lips, took her through a progression of sensitization to sheer ecstasy. But this wasn’t part of the plan, she wasn’t supposed to lose control of the situation. For him to be hers – for him to worship her – she needed to dominate him. She needed this night to break his resolve and keep him coming back for more.
As his hands flicked off a few buttons of her trench coat, she clutched his hands and restrained his impatience. She commanded him to put her down. Astonished, but respectful of her, he eased her down off the door.
“I need you to sit down.”
He supposed she wanted to talk about the circumstances and explain how they couldn’t do this anymore. He headed over to the minimal, wooden chair situated a foot away from the expansive window with the backdrop of city skyline lights. As he sat down, it occurred to him- why meet privately in a hotel to say goodbye?
She walked over to him, each step a tap from her high heel shoes. Now she stopped right in front of him and she unbuttoned just two buttons from the bottom of her coat. She extended her foot and rested it beside him on the rear of seat.
She leaned into him and whispered into his ear, ” I want you to just sit there and watch. Don’t touch me or doing anything unless I tell you to.”
She continued removing her buttons and angled her body forwards to let the coat slide off her.She was dressed in a black, lace two piece lingerie. The upper half was a low plunging bra, that left much of her large breasts completely exposed. The little that was there was a lace gossamer that teasingly failed to cover her big, dark pigmented areolas and suppress the prominence of her hardened nipples.
The bottom half was just as scant. The outline was a thong underwear, only the back was bordered with thin, spiraling lace webs that stretched and clung tightly on the large curves of her ass. The front meanwhile was the same near-transparent lace window, that left her dark labia visible. The lips were slightly parted and glistening. Her heavy, intoxicating smell filled before his face, conjuring her taste. His hand went to grab her ass to bring her closer to his face, but she struck his hand with a sharp slap.
“What did I say? No touching.”
He leaned back against the chair, trying his best to comply with her rules. Her face did not betray her serious demeanor, despite relishing the sight of him submit to her authority. She held all the cards, and now it was just a matter of playing them down in the right succession.
She stepped down from the chair and bent down beside her coat. Her hand slipped into the pocket and pulled out a long, grey scarf. She walked behind him, and looped the scarf tight around one wrist, then around the other. He smiled, amused at the game she wanted to play. But then, she pulled hard on the two loose ends, pulling his arm back tight around the chair, next to one another. Finally, she tied the ends in a knot on to the top of the chair. He shuffled his arm a bit trying to loosen the knot, but nothing would budge. It dawned on him that he was really stuck to this chair.
But the play wasn’t over there. Facing him, she extended her foot enclosed in a sharp high heel shoe towards his face. His amusement was gone and now replaced by feelings of fear. Then, she grazed his right cheek and delicately pressed against the headboard of the chair. As he was sent falling, pangs of panic ran down his body and into his stomach. He braced for the hard fall the best he could in this state of submission, but then was surprised to be suspended in the air at a 45 degree angle. The chair was resting against the window.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he shouted.
Arya rested her hand on his knee. Surprisingly, this simple gesture was enough to calm him. Noticing his return to composure, she traced her hand along the inside of his thigh. When she reached his groin she paused to cup his balls, and next ran her fingers up his broad shaft. Then, she expertly unbuttoned each button of his shirt with the just one hand. As she made her way up, walking alongside the length of his body, she ran the hand up the exposed abdomen and chest.
“Now we just need to keep that mouth shut.”
Without much more thought, she straddled both the chair and his chest with her legs stretched wide. One hand reached down pulling the gossamer cloth aside and the other hand grabbed the fringe of his hair. She stepped forward, narrowing her stance, and stood on her toes to accommodate his mouth on her mound. Meanwhile he didn’t need to be compelled, his tongue stretched out and pulled her juices towards her clit. This sent a jolt of pleasure up to her neck and her mouth fixed open. She pulled his hair harder, increase the pressure of his jaw against her groin. Every stroke of his tongue moved with the pace and variation that escalated her sensations. It was time.
She shimmied off his face hurriedly, and readjusted herself to straddle his chest in reverse. While she leaned forward undoing his belt buckle, her large ass stretched in front of his face, but just at length from his mouth. Her lips glowed wet and red between the curves of her cheeks. He reminisced on what it was like to have those soft curves smothering his face. But, with the sound of pants zipper, she retreated her hips away from his face.
Her hands already reached beneath the waistband, wrestling the huge cock out. The head and foreskin were gleaming wet. She got off him once more and straddled him again forwards. Reaching back she lined his head up between her lips and thrusted her hips back. His body twitched in an immediate response. The stretch inside her was impeccable. But, she had almost forgotten- she reached behind her back and in undid her clasp. The large breasts sprang forward, uncontained and farther apart. Then she leaned forward stretching both hands on the expansive glass. All this time the world could see her and that only turned her on more. She might as well give them the view they wanted.
With each thrust, she pushed off the glass, increasing her speed but then stopping just before a powerful collision with his thighs. Every retraction her heavy, but soft breasts fell on his face. She kept this vigorous pace for 2 mins, but for him even that was far too long. She brought him near climax and she knew she had to stop. She rested her forehead on his and looked straight in his eyes.
“Remember when you came all over my face… I’m not letting you do that… ”
She angled her mouth towards his ear and whispered, “I want you to cum in me.”
Her eyes looked straight into his eyes as she adjusted to slow and lingering pace. She angled her pelvis so that her skin brushed against his. The angle applied more pressure on his shaft. Within seconds, he felt the hot liquid flowing out of him, filling the very ends of her. But, she kept going, and milking more from him until she spasmed on top of him.
He lay there completely exhausted, suspending in overwhelming sensation and pleasure. Meanwhile she dismounted off him and began dressing herself. She pulled the underwear tight against her pussy sealing his cum in her. Her coat on, she walked back over to him and gave a quick kiss on his lips.
“You’re welcome.” She smiled at him.
With one hard pull on the scarf she undid the restraint and wrapped it around her neck. She walked away without turning back once and closed the door shut. Krish still lay there suspended and half naked. He was in utter disbelief of what just happened. But, he knew one thing, he was in love with Arya.
Stay tuned for more of this series. As a special bonus- if you’d like to see my artistic rendition of Arya. Go to my profile.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/si052u/arya_the_indian_babe_part_2